


Cold

by thehonestman (orphan_account)



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Falling Out of Love, M/M, Sad, implied mental health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 21:33:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20749091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thehonestman
Summary: It’s raining, and Mark knows Donghyuck is out there.





	Cold

It’s cold in the house. Mark checks the thermostat; it reads 21 degrees. It shouldn’t feel so cold.

He drifts through the rest of the house, heading toward the kitchen to check the time. The clock on the oven reads 1:24 am, and Mark is so tired. The sweat and grime and whatever else is still carelessly on his face as he crawls into bed and falls asleep with an arm draped loosely over Donghyuck.

Mark wakes up late the next morning, and Donghyuck is already gone. He’s not surprised. He just rolls out of bed and takes a shower, and tries not to think about Donghyuck. The rest of the morning goes as planned; Mark waters the plants on the balcony, makes himself some coffee and cooks a nice meal that he leaves on the counter for Donghyuck. Not that it would be eaten. Mark knows it never is. Perhaps it would be picked at, perhaps completely untouched, but he leaves it there for Donghyuck to come home to anyway.

The afternoon is dreary. It’s raining, and Mark knows Donghyuck is out there. He doesn’t know exactly where he is, but he’s definitely not taking cover from the downpour. No, if anything, he’s reveling in it, bathing in it like it’s a shower of fine wine, a gift from God himself. Mark doesn’t understand why Donghyuck does that, but he doesn’t have time for comprehension when he has bills to pay. Bills that he spends the afternoon taking care of, and bills that he falls asleep while taking care of. When he wakes at 4:30 pm, he rushes to get ready, leaves a kind note for Donghyuck to maybe-but-probably-not read later on his way out the door.

Eight hour shifts are tiring. There are places Mark would much rather be from 5 pm to 1 am almost every night, places that don’t include rude customers and drunk fighting, but he supposes that being a bartender isn’t the worst job he could have. He keeps that in mind as he glides from end to end of the bar, anticipating the time he can go home.

Once that time comes, Mark feels less tired than he’d expected to be. Perhaps it has something to do with the nap he’d taken earlier. He doesn’t struggle to keep his eyes open as he drives home quite as much as he usually does, and he thinks that maybe today is a good day, maybe something good will happen soon. Maybe Donghyuck will be awake when he gets home.

Donghyuck is not, in fact, awake when Mark gets home, because Donghyuck is never awake, in fact, when Mark gets home. Donghyuck is always fast asleep in their shared bed in their shared bedroom in their shared house, but Mark is still happy to have things to share with him. In the kitchen, he packs away the meal that had been picked at, puts it back in the fridge and notices the way the note he’d left Donghyuck is gone. He can’t be disappointed about the meal. Donghyuck kept the note.

He can’t be disappointed when he enters the bedroom and sees Donghyuck asleep so peacefully. He wonders if his mind is truly peaceful. Mark reaches out with the most gentle hand possible and rubs it over Donghyuck’s flushed cheek. He watches as Donghyuck shifts slightly, a bit of a shiver running through his body and he realizes that Donghyuck is cold. He sighs, slips into bed, and tugs the covers tight, tighter over Donghyuck than he does over himself.

The morning comes, and once again, Donghyuck is out of bed. But it’s Thursday, and Donghyuck doesn’t leave on Thursdays. On Thursdays, Donghyuck is home all day, but not in the way Mark wishes he was. Donghyuck is upstairs, locked away in the study writing for hours and hours on end. He doesn’t let Mark read what he writes. Not that Mark has ever asked, but he figures that if Donghyuck wanted him to read it he would tell him. So he’s never asked.

Mark gets out of bed, late as per usual, and doesn’t see Donghyuck until he brings a bowl of soup for him up to the study. He’s careful on the stairs, doesn’t want to drop the meal that Donghyuck might not eat anyways.

When he approaches the room, he looks in through the large glass panels of the door that is slightly ajar. Donghyuck is sitting in a big black chair, writing away passionately, black pen creating dramatic marks against the paper that will never, ever be replaced by a computer. He’s practically swallowed by the fabric of the chair as he sits just in sweatpants, no shirt or shoes. But apparently, he’s still getting service because Mark is pushing the door open with his foot, still so careful not to drop the soup as he calls out “hey” into the room. Donghyuck looks back at him and he smiles lightly.

“Hi,” Donghyuck whispers, like he’s afraid of something in the room breaking. He puts down his pen and paper as he turns in his chair to stare up at Mark. Mark looks back, and bites his lip cautiously. Donghyuck is practically shrinking. He’s wearing so thin, the skin on his stomach doesn’t even roll or fold over when he’s slouched over.

“Why don’t you eat something?” Mark asks, though he’s more so suggesting. He sets the soup down on the table in front of Donghyuck, watches as Donghyuck eats a slow spoonful. The room is delicate, but not tense. Everything appears to be in slow motion as Mark moves closer to Donghyuck. Donghyuck looks back up to him with glossy eyes, and Mark doesn’t want to know what that means. He just focuses in on Donghyuck, locks in on the bags under his eyes and the ruffled up hair as he reaches out with a gentle hand and touches his face gently. This time, Donghyuck is awake, and this time, Donghyuck can respond when he feels Mark’s hands rub over his cheeks, push his hair back from his forehead and run his fingers through it. His eyes flutter shut as Mark leans down and plants a light kiss on his forehead before taking his hands off of him and leaving without a word.

That night at work, Mark can’t focus. He’s mixing up tabs, delivering orders to the wrong customers and spilling drinks left and right. He’s thinking about Donghyuck, thinking about what skin and bones mean and what teary eyes mean and what closed-offness means and why everything is going wrong. It’s all wrong.

Mark’s boss has apparently taken notice of his lack of focus. Once Mark struggles through one last particularly busy rush of customers, his boss calls him into the storage room. The guy is kind, and looks at Mark with pitiful eyes before asking him what’s going on. Mark shakes his head and sniffs. He looks down, fakes a laugh to play it cool. His boss doesn’t buy it. He wouldn't buy it himself.

“I don’t even know,” he settles on as he looks back up into the eyes of his boss.

“Go home,” he says, and Mark is worried. He can’t lose this job. “Get some sleep.” Mark just nods, doesn’t bother to thank him as he rushes out the door to his car. He sits in the driver’s seat and breathes steadily, deeply to collect himself. In, out, he relaxes. He’s not tired, and he doesn’t have a problem driving home at only 9:30 pm.

Upon arriving home, Mark almost cries at the sight of Donghyuck sitting on the couch watching TV, apparently finishing up that soup from lunch just now. Donghyuck starts momentarily when he hears Mark enter, obviously not used to anyone being home at this time, but he relaxes when he sees who it is. He places the soup on the coffee table in front of him and wrings his hands together as Mark walks over silently.

“Boss sent me home early.” Mark says, and Donghyuck blinks up at him with the biggest, most innocent eyes. He reaches to grab Mark’s jaw, rubbing his thumb along the untamed scruff there, examining it before dropping his hand back down to the couch.

“You look tired,” he says, and suddenly, Mark is tired. So he nods. Donghyuck nods back. Mark leans in. Donghyuck leans too. Their lips meet softly, Mark’s hand high on Donghyuck’s thigh in a way that is anything but suggestive. Only connected in lips and a hand on a thigh, they kiss briefly for the first time in a long, long time.

There should be fireworks. There should be celebrations, and sparks, and relief, and just something. But there’s nothing. Whatever they used to have is gone, and the silence speaks for itself. Mark just stands up with a final pat to Donghyuck’s thigh before heading into the bedroom to sleep. He’s wasted their only night together, and as he undresses he understands what skin and bones mean and what glossy eyes mean and what closed-offness means.

And he knows why the house is so cold.


End file.
